


Cactus in the Valley

by maleficaura



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pining, other pairings mentioned - Freeform, possible spoilers for claude's backstory, spoilers for up to chapter 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 08:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20850788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maleficaura/pseuds/maleficaura
Summary: I never meant to witherI wanted to be tallLike a fool left the riverAnd watched my branches fallWith the ball on the horizon, Claude's feelings for Dimitri arise like a raw, open wound. Claude comes to terms with whether or not he should tell him.





	Cactus in the Valley

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary based off of this song by Lights/Owl City:   
https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=cactus+in+the+valley+lights
> 
> My first fic for three houses and Claumitri/Dimiclaude!! I'm in rly deep and uhhhh, I may have already planned a multichapter slowburn fic for these two bc pining is my brand apparently.   
Anyway I was obsessed with the idea of them dancing together and thus this fic was born...I hope you enjoy reading it! it was definitely a blast to write

The month of the ethereal moon saw new life breathed into every corner of Garreg Mach. Word of the ball spread like wildfire, manifesting in excited chatter that echoed through the halls between lessons and seminars — in the cafeteria at lunch, sometimes hushed and subtle, and other times unbearably loud and blatant. Sylvain in particular, was especially guilty of the latter, all too eager to indulge in his crass flirting habits with heightened fervour. Claude mustered a small chuckle at the sight of Felix, Ingrid and Dimitri giving the red-headed nobleman an earful over their food. 

As he panned his vision from the stained-glass windows at the rear, to a gathering of students and faculty on his left, Claude caught Edelgard’s gaze where she stood properly in line waiting for her meal to be served. For a brief moment, her eyes fell upon the mismatched group of Blue Lions students as they flitted about their own antics, and then flickered resolutely away from the scene. Regardless, Claude still noticed the restrained twitch of her lips and smiled to himself. He could tease her about wanting to join in the commotion later.

“So you’ve got your eyes set on the imperial princess?” Hilda leaned in while giving him her trademark, wide grin. Before Claude could protest, she continued, “I’m kidding, of course. Though I’m still eager to know who you’re  _ really  _ gunning for.” 

“Maybe, but at a cost,” he replied, not too keen on divulging the details of his love life on a whim. 

“Ugh, you’re no fun!” Hilda pouted. 

“What do you mean? By noble standards I’m the  _ king _ of fun. And besides, everyone ends up switching partners during the ball, so who I wind up with can’t be that exciting.” 

Hilda responded with nothing more than a dramatic roll of her eyes, as if Claude himself, ever notorious for concocting the most meticulous schemes, had overlooked the obvious. “Yeah, but what about your last dance — or someone you’d like to take to the goddess tower! Now that’s a big deal.” 

For a moment, he let his gaze linger once more in the direction of Dimitri, who had busied himself talking easily amongst his childhood friends. Claude felt a tug on his heartstrings, a most familiar sensation rippling in his chest. No matter how many times it besieged him, he found that it always caught him off guard. Claude typically distanced himself from what he couldn’t predict; he preferred to deliver surprises rather than receive them. Still, he was drawn to Dimitri and the enigmatic cocktail of emotions that came with his presence all the same.

Claude looked up and folded his arms behind his head. “Like I said, I don’t give away secrets for free. You’ll have to pay a small price...with interest.” He added a wink for good measure. 

“ _ Interest _ ? Wow you’re a tough nut to crack,” Hilda grumbled. “I know there’s someone out there who’s caught your attention. I’ll figure it out in no time!” She seemed resolute and determined, striking Claude with a degree of alarm. Hilda rarely devoted herself to many causes, but when she did, she was crafty, capable and diligent all at once. Perhaps, if Claude were to even let his guard down, Hilda would pry him open like a book (if she deemed it worth her time). 

Hilda stood up, empty plate in hand, and nudged him with her waist.

“Even  _ you  _ can’t keep all your secrets from me. Just you watch,” she said, far too chipper for Claude’s liking.

—

When Claude had entered the library the following evening, he was surprised to find Dimitri there too, perusing the shelves while something seemed to weigh on his mind. To see the prince bathed in the dim lamplight was comforting, and yet Claude still felt the harsh thrum of his pulse ringing in his ears. 

“Your princeliness,” he greeted with a low, exaggerated bow. Dimitri bristled, broad shoulders squaring in defense. His rattled disposition faded as he recognised Claude before him. “You never told me you were an avid reader.” 

“Claude.” He quirked his lips into a warm simper, stiff but genuine. “You scared the living daylights out of me. Regardless, your company is very welcome.” 

Claude had grown accustomed to Dimitri’s presence in the evenings. Their dorms were close to one another, and in the ripest hours after dark (where Dimitri preferred to train alone to chase away his demons, and Claude would retreat to the library to sate his curiosity) the two house leaders had often crossed paths. At first, they exchanged few words with each meeting — or only a nod of acknowledgement on more gruelling days, where neither of them seemed eager to talk. Somewhere along the line, Claude’s greetings of ‘hey your Highness’ had grown into a ‘hey your Highness, how’s it going?’, and eventually into a ‘hey your Highness, mind if I crash in your room for the night?’. 

Had they encountered here several months prior, Dimitri would have shut his book in one hand and politely taken his leave. Though he was never reclusive in the way that Claude was, he wasn’t one to open up on a whim and relinquish his sorrows either.

A spell of silence befell them, and strangely, it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, the timid candlelights and Dimitri’s company made for quite the peaceful atmosphere — one that Claude welcomed amidst an erratic fray of battles and bloodshed. 

Dimitri spoke up first, the resolve in his voice wavering ever so slightly. Or perhaps the falter was a mere fragment of Claude’s imagination. “So...the ball is coming up soon.” 

Just like that, with the abrupt force of a strike to his cheek, Claude went from feeling at ease, to feeling like he was being swallowed whole by anticipation. He started to shake one leg as it was crossed over the other, while his book felt like a scalding anvil in his hands. 

“Bringing up such a touchy subject out of the blue — are you asking me to save you a dance?” Claude hadn’t intended to pose the question with such excitement, wanting enough leeway to brush it off as a teasing remark instead, but the ensuing wave of colour that stretched to Dimitri’s ears was a welcome surprise. 

He decided to not rescind his words. Even though it felt strange to do so, the breaking of a habit making Claude feel like a ghost in someone else’s body. 

“Well I wouldn’t object,” Dimitri muttered under his breath, but his voice was too muffled to hear. 

“What was that?” 

“Oh nothing — just another one of my silly ramblings is all. Don’t mind me.” Claude was curious, but he knew that he’d be wasting his breath trying to press any further. 

“Anyhow,” Dimitri started again, clearing his throat. “I was wondering how you feel about this.” 

“About what?”

“You know, the whole ball ordeal. I’m well aware that formalities such as this one aren’t your cup of tea.” 

Claude’s lips wrought themselves into a fond grin. For the most part, Dimitri had a sound grasp on him, as one of the few who dared to care what lay beyond Claude’s immaculate shell of a heartthrob persona. Most people became either bewitched or repulsed by the surface, the fog in their minds too thick to let them think twice. Dimitri was among those Claude could count on his hands — someone who spoke  _ to  _ him rather than at him. 

“Heh, you’re not wrong,” Claude chuckled. “But maybe this time will be different.” 

“Oh, how so?” 

“Well, our classmates will be there, teach too—“

_ ‘And you.’  _ He stopped himself before his most damning thoughts spilt themselves unbidden. Claude looked at Dimitri, only to find that he was smiling ever so gently back. His heart skipped a beat. 

If he knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t have sought Dimitri’s presence and clung to it like a lifeline. But Claude found that he’d already dug himself into a deep trench, unable to grasp the edges and clamber free. He wouldn’t give up Dimitri unless Dimitri asked it of him. Claude had grown attached — addicted even — to their easy conversations and late night sparring sessions, where sometimes only a disgruntled Felix accompanied them as an unfortunate third wheel (although the swordsman would often storm out of the training grounds in a huff, a string of curses gushing from his mouth). 

As usual, Claude swallowed the lump in his throat and brushed off any flirtatious comments that he let slip. For the first time in a while, he wished that he didn’t have to be so deceptive. 

—

“Is it Lorenz?” 

“Hilda,  _ please. _ ”

“ _ Okay _ , okay, what about...me! Maybe that’s why you’re being so secretive! Aww how sweet of you.” 

“You’ve really got me figured out, huh.” 

“How tragic! Sorry Claude, but I just don’t feel that way about you.” 

“Oh, what a shame—“ 

“Claude, Hilda!” Byleth cut off their mindless repartee, turning away from the chalkboard with a stern look about her. She had been amidst a lecture detailing the many uses of white magic and healing arts — one that Lysithea had been trying very diligently to follow from where she sat at the front, notes scrawled hastily all over her parchment. “Concentrate,” the professor warned in that level, monotone way of hers. 

“Sorry teach,” Claude apologised sheepishly, then turned to Hilda to fix her with a sharp glare. She batted her eyelashes and gave a saccharine smile in return. He should have expected no less. 

Lysethia cornered the two of them just after the lecture, her expression twisted into a venomous frown. If he wasn’t her classmate and friend, Claude would have felt a shiver run down his spine at the sight. 

“Your inane gossip today was extremely  _ irritating _ ; I almost missed that section on warp spells, which, in case you weren’t aware, are very difficult to get a grasp of.” 

Claude’s hands flew up in surrender. “Hilda started it!” He accused, earning him a firm elbow from his classmate. “Ow! Geez, you really know how to make it count.” 

“I wouldn’t have to start anything if you weren’t so stubborn.” 

“Ugh, you’re both incorrigible! You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” Though Lysithea’s words sounded harsh, the annoyance in her voice had tempered somewhat, resembling typical jadedness instead. “Whatever, I’m getting food. They’re serving saghert and cream today, and I’d be foolish to miss out just because I wasted time here.”

Cogs whirred slowly at the back of Claude’s mind. Saghert and cream — a dish that Claude didn’t care for himself, but a favourite of Dimitri’s. Lysithea turned on her heel and began to saunter away, but before she ventured too far Claude decided to fall into step beside her. 

“Mind if me and Hilda come with?” 

“ _ What,  _ I didn’t have a say in this?!” 

“It’s Hilda and  _ I _ ...and suit yourself.” 

It was simple and easy. Claude and Lysithea exchanging superficial jabs while Hilda trailed behind them, lamenting, though she was in no way obliged to indulge in their company. Regardless, Claude knew he’d later look on these waning, idyllic hours with fondness. He wished he could always banter with his classmates and talk the perils of night away leaning ever so slightly into Dimitri’s side. He wished he could always be among people like this: as an equal, not an outsider. 

But Claude also knew better than to be so naïve. There were telltale signs of looming darkness wherever he went. He saw it in Edelgard’s chilled, distant but longing demeanour — in the nightmares Dimitri would wake up from in a cold sweat — in the simmering miasma of bloodlust and deceit that crept just shy of the monastery walls. 

Someday, this brittle mirage they were in would draw its last breath. Claude was aware of that from the start, hiding himself at the heart of a labyrinth of trickery and mischief. And yet Dimitri, and even the professor and Claude’s classmates had managed to find their way to him without so much as a second thought. 

For now, Claude decided to push away his more cynical thoughts, instead testing the boundaries of what would piss Lysithea off enough to try and hex him, which seemed far healthier for his mood. 

“Claude, by the goddess if you tell me that I’m up past my bedtime again, I will burn that pretty braid of yours cleanly off your head. Don’t test me.” Lysethia conjured the beginnings of a spell, vibrant violet sparks crackling in her open palm, curling into a newborn rune. It vanished as quickly as it came, nothing more than a warning that Claude wisely decided to heed, giggling into his knuckles with the mirth of a giddy child. Hilda was sat beside him, chin in one hand, inspecting her nails with the other. She found she had little reason to pay attention to such routine antics, but there was still a semblance of solace in letting them play out while she did much of nothing. 

“The two of you bicker like siblings...it’s a refreshing sight.” 

Claude snapped his head around at the steady sound of Dimitri’s voice. He hadn’t intended to respond with such vehemence — enough to earn him a narrow-eyed look from Hilda.

“I’m sorry I didn't mean to scare you…ah, consider it reprieve for the other night!” 

Hilda had suddenly become  _ very  _ interested in the conversation. 

“The other night. Huh.” She suggestively nudged Claude’s shoulder with her own. “What kind of funny business have you two been up to?” 

“N-nothing improper, I swear! I was just reading in the library and he surprised me is all,” Dimitri stammered. A swathe of pink underlied his cheeks, stretching all the way to his ears. Claude tried direly to not admire the sight. If he knew one thing about Faerghus’ crown prince it was that he easily flustered, but Claude found that he never tired of seeing him that way. 

Dimitri shifted his weight from one foot to another. “If it’s not a bother, may I join you for a while? Dedue is busy tending to the plants in the greenhouse, and I promised him I would find some company in his absence.” 

“You don’t have to a—“

“Oh we’d love to have you your Highness!” Hilda interrupted, gleaming with newfound excitement. Claude was impressed; she had caught on. Fast. 

“Thank you very much, and just Dimitri is fine.” 

Lysithea paid no mind to the entire spectacle, her attention entirely honed on enjoying a second (or third) helping of dessert. For some time they ate in silence, Claude sparing the occasional sidelong glance at Dimitri until he caught himself in the act. He tried to calm his incited heartbeat and the squirming butterflies in his stomach, all to little avail. So Claude settled for his next best bet, instead opting to reinforce a carefree, relaxed front. But that too was easier said than done. 

Hilda spoke up first, fingers drumming a merry rhythm against polished wood. “So Dimitri, is there anyone  _ you’re  _ saving a dance for at the ball? I can imagine you’ll get a lot of people asking for your hand.” 

Dimitri choked on his drink. Claude was glad he wasn’t drinking anything. 

“Hilda, don’t kill him!” He chastised, instinctively patting Dimitri’s back. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up so suddenly.” 

“Don’t worry about it; it’s understandable that you’re curious.” By this point, Dimitri had recovered, regaining his usual well-rehearsed, sturdy manner. “In all honesty I haven’t given it that much thought, but I suppose there is someone I have in mind.”

Claude didn’t know he could feel hopeful and hopeless all at once, but here he was, caught in a chokehold between both feelings, breath positively stolen from him. Hilda had certainly recognised something was amiss with him, as she didn’t press any further. For that, Claude was thankful, preferring to be kept in the dark rather than deal with a crushing weight of disappointment on his shoulders. It was out of character for him, a tireless pursuer of truth — this was the first time he wanted nothing more than to run from it.

He wore a wide grin and slung an arm around Dimitri’s shoulders. “But I can count on you to save me a dance, right?” 

“I — what are you planning this time Claude?” 

“Nothing! I know better than that.” 

Claude would usually think nothing of people assuming that he always had something up his sleeve, but somehow, Dimitri’s remark had managed to rub him the wrong way. The sting he felt was fleeting; Claude was at fault for the notoriety and scepticism surrounding him after all. He couldn’t blame Dimitri for being swept up and captivated by the same belief. 

“Claude...Clauuuude!” Hilda prodded him firmly on the cheek, jolting him back to his senses. “What’s gotten into you? Usually  _ I’m  _ the one who spaces out on the spot like that.” 

“Was it something I said?” Dimitri asked, a mix of concern and remorse weaving a firm crease into his brow. 

Claude leaned back and laughed off the heaviness plaguing his thoughts. “What, can’t a guy have a moment of introspection? It’s sweet of you to worry though.” 

“No one’s worried,” Lysethia grumbled through a mouthful of dessert. “It’s just embarrassing to see you brooding there like some half-wit.” 

Claude returned Lysithea’s quip with one of his own, and allowed an air of levity to seep back through the troublesome haze brewing at the rear of his mind.

—

“So...Dimitri huh?” Hilda began, combing absently through the flaxen mane of one of the horses. Claude almost dropped the haystack clutched precariously in his arms, which were covered in goosebumps from the writhing cold. 

“What about him?” He responded with caution. 

“I think he likes you.” 

Claude’s foot snagged on a bucket, landing him in a helpless heap of hay and with a uniform sullied by  _ goddess knows what _ . He stood up to collect himself and grimaced at how unkempt his state was. 

“Wow Claude, I didn’t think you were the clumsy type.” 

“Well if someone would give me a hand here instead of grooming Dorte the entire time, I might not be in such a sore spot.” 

“But I’m too  _ delicate  _ for all that stuff.” 

Claude doubted that, given how Hilda easily tore through enemy ranks on the battlefield, all while prattling on to the professor about how she was better off lounging back in her room instead. 

“Right, riiiiight...but why are you focusing so much on Dorte in particular? Sounds like someone has a soft spot for a certain animal lover.” 

Hilda scowled, a telltale pink hue dusting her cheeks. “We’re talking about you and Dimitri here; don’t bring Marianne into this. Anyway, I think you should ask him to dance, for real.”

“If things were so simple, I would have done so in a heartbeat.”

“Ugh, Claude  _ honestly _ , drop the act!” She exclaimed, arms thrown out in chagrin. “Would it harm you to take one risk? Sitting still doesn’t quite cut it when it comes to matters of the heart...you need closure.” 

“Wow Hilda, since when were you such a giver of wisdom?” 

“Since always. Now hurry up and get this over with; we need to get ready for tonight you know. Especially you — look at the state you’re in!” 

Claude knew that once she was done preparing herself for the ball, Hilda would barge into his room and ensure not a single hair of his was out of place before letting him out. She’d do the same for all her friends, hiding behind a front of apathy whilst swooping in with a kind gesture at the last minute. 

Dimitri aside, Claude hoped to enjoy the evening with the professor and his classmates to the fullest. He could already predict where he’d find them — Lysithea and Raphael by the refreshments, while poor Ignatz would be left to his own devices, stumbling over his partner’s feet. Hilda would be dressed to impress, no doubt having nobles and commoners alike swooning at her feet. But at the end of the day, Claude knew she’d be happiest quietly swaying with Marianne in the corner. 

In all honesty, Claude was at odds with what to do with himself. He had no clue where he fit in or with whom. While Dimitri still lingered at the forefront of his mind, he knew it would be unreasonable to demand his company all night, and it felt odd intruding on his friends’ plans too. A sinking feeling of not belonging, though irrational, continued to pester Claude as he finished the last of his assignments with Hilda.

The distraction of getting ready for the ball was a welcome one. Claude bathed and then changed into the finest clothes he could find, finally adjusting his necktie and cufflinks in the mirror. The following ten minutes were spent frantically sifting through a clutter of books and half-written poetry on his desk, in search of a bottle of perfume. In particular, Claude was after a fragrance cultivated from rare Almyran herbs, one that he had reserved for only a handful of occasions. When he found it at last, he made a mental note to at least put his more valuable possessions somewhere sensible in the future. 

As if on cue, Hilda invited herself in just short of when Claude was ready to leave. She beamed at him, skipped over with a spring in her step. 

“Oh, you actually look nice!” 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Claude replied. 

“Right? I went all out on this one — you never know when we’ll get a chance like this again.” Hilda swivelled from one side to the other, showing off her extravagant gown. She wore her hair loose and curled, while vibrant jewellery adorned her ears, wrists and neck, all embellished in shimmering beads and gemstones.

“I decided to get a little something for everyone in our class — hold on, let me get yours out — you can wear it now!” Claude watched her rummage through her purse until she pulled out a pair of earrings similar to her own, except they were gold instead of silver. “Here. I thought it would be cool for our leader man and his number two to match a little.” 

“This is...surprisingly thoughtful. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Shut up Claude, you’re ruining the moment!” 

“Oh we’re having a moment — hang on a sec.” Claude clutched his chest dramatically with one hand. “To receive a gift from  _ the  _ Hilda Valentine Goneril, what an honour! I’m so moved I might cry.” 

“Now you’re making it weird on purpose. Just try it on already.” 

“Alright, alright,” Claude relented, laughing to himself, and wore one of the earrings just as she asked. When he was done, Hilda pushed him by his shoulders back towards the mirror. 

“Sooo, what do you think? Admit it, I have an excellent eye for this stuff.” 

Claude took a moment to inspect his reflection. “Not too shabby Hilda...thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she chirped, grinning widely from ear to ear. “Now hurry up, we can’t keep everyone waiting!” 

The ball took place in the reception hall, tables and chairs pushed all the way to the rear to make space in the centre. Light poured in from chandeliers, lamps and candles all at once, enveloping the area in a saturated glow. Almost everyone was dressed to the nines, save for the professor who stood stoically at the sidelines. Claude couldn’t help but be amused by the sight. At a glance Byleth appeared out of place, but it was offset by how she seemed to be enjoying herself, talking easily with whoever approached her. 

On one side of the hall, the orchestra busied themselves tuning their instruments. Manuela was among them, frantically adjusting sheet music stands and carrying spare strings to an unfortunate, tearful violinist who had snapped one of their own. Claude also spotted Dorothea warming up her voice while Petra cheered her on with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. 

Eventually, the loud chatter drew to a halt, and the uniform melody of a waltz began to settle in its place. Edelgard was the first to step into the fray with her partner, dancing in careful motions with a rehearsed smile on her face. Dimitri came in next, the sight of him so meticulously dressed with his hair tamed and gelled back making Claude freeze where he stood. 

He looked  _ breathtaking _ . 

Claude forced himself to look away, instead opting to search for a partner of his own. He saw Byleth standing near him unoccupied, and pulled her gleefully towards the dance floor. She staggered and hobbled, mouth pinned agape. 

“Claude hold on...I can’t dance,” she protested, seeds of worry sprouting in her voice.

“Don’t worry about it teach; I’ll show you how!” He reassured the professor, guiding her through the motions with ease, mostly. When they danced together, she only tripped over his feet once, and that time had been entirely Claude’s fault; he had stolen one too many glances at Dimitri and caught himself in a daze, broken free only by a frantic yelp from Byleth as she fumbled in his arms.

“See? It’s not so bad,” he said, once they at last attained some kind of flow.

“I suppose.” 

“Impressed by my dancing skills?” 

“Well with my lack of experience, I can’t gauge too well. But it’s a step above whatever...routine Alois was trying to show me this morning.” 

“Gee, thanks teach. Glad to know that I meet at least  _ that _ standard.” Claude noticed Edelgard staring rather unsubtly in his and Byelth’s direction, a coveting but hesitant shadow overhanging her. “You know…I think Edelgard is itching to dance with you.”

“Is that so?” Byleth perked up slightly, and Claude swore he could see the beginnings of a blush forming on her cheeks. He never knew the professor was capable of expressing herself that way, even if the crack in her solemn, indifferent exterior had amended itself in the heedless blink of an eye. 

Claude almost felt guilty keeping her and Edelgard apart.

“Hey princess!” He called, making Edelgard balk in surprise. “Wanna switch?” A few heads turned at the sound of his voice, loud enough to cut through all the clutter. 

She scowled at him but seemed to agree nonetheless, politely but brusquely excusing her partner before heading towards them. 

“H-hold on, what if I —“ The professor floundered, hands tensing into a death grip on Claude’s shoulders.

“You’ll be fine,” Claude immediately assured, and twirled her straight into Edelgard’s arms before she could back out.

In the end, Byleth and Edelgard were content together, both uneager to extend their hand to anyone else for the remainder of the evening. Claude jumped from partner to partner, refusing to confront Dimitri, as even looking at him would send his heartbeat into a frenzy. But eventually, he tired, the busyness and clamour of the hall taking its toll. Claude sidled outside when he was free and let his feet carry him in the direction of the goddess tower.

The harsh cold of winter nipped at his cheeks while he climbed, and he couldn’t help but shiver as he revered the sight of timid snowfall against a bold night sky. Garreg Mach was covered in a thin sheet of white, looking ethereal and desolate all at once. In the background, echoed a muffled hum of music and merrymaking, reminding Claude that he was out here alone — an odd one out. 

For the first time in a while, he let himself get lost in his thoughts. His feet tapped absently to the steady rhythm of a waltz:  _ one, two, three, one, two, three _ . But the more he allowed his mind to wander, the more suffocating the yearning pang in his chest grew. Claude wondered if he was better off back inside, so overwhelmed by the strident noise and bustle that not even his own petulant mind could pester him. 

He turned his head at the sound of heavy footsteps, surprised to see Dimitri emerge behind him looking emotionally spent. 

“Tired of the festivities?” Claude asked, lips upturned.

“You could say that...and you?” 

“It’s a tad formal for my tastes.” That wasn’t far from the truth. Claude was one to prefer simpler and freer celebrations over balls and galas and classy banquets, where everyone seemed to have an agenda to fulfill. 

Dimitri rested against the balcony next to him and peered down at a vast, crystalline expanse of white. Nostalgia and heartache seemed to bind him both at once.

“This snow...it reminds me of Faerghus — back in Fhirdiad.” His smile was bittersweet, wracked with grief and anguish behind a fragile, gentler exterior. Claude wanted desperately to vanquish the shadows of Dimitri’s past himself, but he knew that the prince’s wounds were too grievous to amend overnight. 

“The winters there are unforgiving at times. I remember, on occasion, my father would let me go out with the knights into the capital. We’d distribute food and clothing to the townsfolk, and have snowball fights with the children in the streets.” Dimitri laughed gently, some of the pain in his expression subsiding as he did so. “Sylvain didn’t like to get too involved but Ingrid, Felix and I...we really took them seriously.” 

“Competitive even back then, eh?” 

Flecks of snow fell like stardust against Dimitri’s hair and shoulders. Claude wanted to brush away the shattered constellations from his head — he wondered if Dimitri would lean into his touch or flinch from it, if Dimitri would do the same for him. He looked into the prince’s quivering eyes, chasms of bright blue still dazzling and lustrous even in the dark. When he looked at Dimitri as he was now, Claude saw everything. The scars of tragedy ran deep, throbbing red gashes engraved into both mind and body. Still, there was a glimmer of happiness streaked across the darkness, carrying a promise of healing, of peace. 

Despite the cold, Claude’s palms felt like they were boiling with sweat, while his throat dried and cracked. He wanted desperately to tell him, to spill out all his feelings for Dimitri in a most pathetic declaration of love. Even if he didn’t feel the same, Dimitri deserved to know that he was worthy of being loved. Not for his picture-perfect persona of a prince, but for his boundless odds and ends — for  _ Dimitri. _

Claude suddenly felt that he could no longer hold back. He had to tell him. 

“You remember what I said about saving me a dance?” 

Dimitri met Claude’s gaze, guard up. “Yes, I recall you saying it in jest.” 

“Well, if I were to ask you for real, would you accept?” 

He turned to fully face Claude, wringing his hands, expression sporting something unreadable. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”

In a rare surge of impulse, perhaps also adorned with foolishness, Claude unwound Dimitri’s hands and took one of them in his own. He felt the coolness of his skin, a stream of calluses at the tip, and the subtle ridges of scars, both fresh and old layered over each other. 

“I’m  _ really _ asking you to dance, here and now. Just the two of us out here — there’s something poetic about it, don’t you think?” 

“Seriously?” Dimitri’s face was wound tight with incredulity. “All this time...I thought you were messing with me.” 

“I suppose my reputation does precede me,” Claude sighed. “But this time I’m entirely serious, you have my word.” 

As the fickle clutches of doubt and hesitance perished, Dimitri became aglow with a sense of joy Claude had never seen the likes of before. His smile was genuine, unshackled for once. “It’d be an honour to dance with you, Claude.” 

Claude’s fingers intertwined seamlessly with Dimitri’s, the perfect fit of their hands making warmth blossom in his chest. His other hand fell to the prince’s waist, while Dimitri clung tentatively to his shoulders in response. Claude felt an exhilarating sense of intimacy, as they danced quietly in three-four time, the faint whispers of a song as their guide. Dimitri’s cravat swayed with him, folding gracefully in the winter breeze, until an abrupt gust had sent it flying into his face.

Claude’s head fell against his shoulder as he erupted into liberating peals of laughter. Dimitri pulled the offending fabric from his face and straightened it behind him.

Claude could almost hear the pout in Dimitri’s voice. “I-is it really that amusing to you?” 

“I don’t know, it’s just very  _ you _ .” He pulled back, only then realising how close they had become. Close enough for Claude’s dragon’s breath to reach Dimitri before it dispersed in thin, cloudy wisps. Their dance had simmered to a halt, a loaded moment of stillness descending between them. A million ‘what ifs’ dangled in the air, jeering —  _ daring  _ Claude to shed layers upon layers of secrets that he had so carefully suppressed. 

Claude’s childhood flashed before his eyes in cherry-picked bursts of scathing memories. 

_ He felt hands fisted into his hair and the neckline of his tunic. No matter how hard he tugged and willed them away, they continued to persist, and when they released, Claude crashed to the ground, his vision a haphazard blur.  _

_ “You’re an  _ outsider _ , not one of us,” they chanted like a curse. Claude pretended that it all meant nothing to him. A humble growth of poisonous mushrooms by his side were his only source of solace. When he was left alone at last, he pulled them from the ground and shoved them into his pockets, the beginnings of a scheme forming in his mind. _

He wondered, if he left his true feelings at Dimitri’s discretion, would he do the same? It was a nonsensical train of thought. He trusted Dimitri with his life, and yet giving him the truth he deserved seemed to instil an incapacitating sense of dread within Claude. 

_ “Would it harm you to take one risk?”  _ Hilda’s words from before continued to haunt him. She wasn’t wrong; for Claude to realise his dreams he’d have to take leaps of faith bigger than this one someday.

He breathed in, plastered on an easy smile, and braced for the worst. “Can I let you in on something? About myself, that is.” 

“What — surely there’s a catch. You’ve never been one to talk extensively about yourself without some sort of cost attached.” 

“Guess it’s your lucky day huh? I’m making an exception just for you, your Highness.” Claude winked, but then let his demeanour shift to one more earnest. He felt the tickling sensation of breath on his cheek, and remembered that the distance between him and Dimitri was still so small. 

A shiver ran along his spine. Whether it was the cold or his nerves he never knew. But it was there, reverberating like the clang of a hammer against steel. Claude found it easy to flirt, to joke, to chatter for hours on end but sincerity did not come easily to him. He had spent years trying to iron it out of his system after all, and yet here it was surging out from him in incessant droves. All thanks to Dimitri.

Claude took a deep breath. 

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you…funny thought, eh?” 

Dimitri’s eyes grew almost comically wide. Redness crept from his neck to his ears. “You... _ what _ ?” 

“You’re really gonna make me say it twice? Ouch,” Claude laughed sardonically, anticipating a rejection doused in scorn, in disgust. “I  _ love  _ you, Dima.” 

A moment of chilling silence. 

He felt Dimitri’s hands tremble against his shoulders. “I — can I try something crazy?” 

“Go on,” Claude said slowly, bemusedly. Before he could even fit in another thought, he felt a pair of dry, rugged lips press against his own. Dimitri pulled away in a near instant, his cheeks somehow more drenched in crimson than before. 

Claude felt heat rise up under his own collar, as he tried to process what had just happened.

“G-Goddess Claude, I’m so — mmph?!” He dipped Dimitri into another kiss, adrenaline pulsing like a potent drug in his veins. Dimitri’s hands curled fervently into the light fabric of Claude’s shirt, his grip both impassioned and desperate. Their lips moved clumsily against each other, but only for a short time, as a dull ache began to torment Claude in his lower back from bending over.

When they separated, the sheer, dumbstruck look on Dimitri’s face was a welcome sight. 

“This is...er, quite the position Claude,” Dimitri said breathlessly, his hold on Claude fierce enough to turn his knuckles white. “Was it really necessary to bend over and kiss me like this?” 

“I was  _ trying  _ to impress you.” It was impossible for Claude to will away the petulant frown on his face as he eased himself and Dimitri into a more comfortable position. They met for another kiss, this time less erratic and more sustained. Dimitri’s hands found Claude’s cheeks, while Claude found his own hands were unable to hold still, the sheer exhilaration he felt carrying them from the prince’s back to his hair, and then to his back again. 

“You know…” Dimitri started between kisses. “I never got to tell you…” Claude edged in another kiss. “...that I love you back.” 

Relief and elation overcame him at those very words. Bumbling warmth fended off the scorching cold, and Claude’s doubts with it. Dimitri was here, kissing him,  _ loving  _ him with a bright, radiant smile on his face. Their whole encounter seemed almost dreamlike, from the quiet music in the background to the whirling snow gathering at their feet. Claude pulled back, enamoured by Dimitri’s lips both pink and swollen, probably not unlike his own. Dimitri’s hair no longer retained its polished, slicked back state, bundles of straw locks hanging askew in all directions. Claude noticed his own braid had come loose; the strands unfurled into a loose helix, bound only by a hair tie at the bottom.

“If we go back as we are, I’m sure people will immediately realise what we’ve been up to.” Dimitri wore happiness well, telltale creases of joy lining his eyes. He let his forehead rest on Claude’s, so enraptured by this moment of bliss they were in, that momentarily, the gravestones fell from where they hung around his neck. 

“Sounds catastrophic...I’m in.” 

“Claude! Surely you can’t be serious,” the prince began, disbelieving. “We can’t just return to the ball looking like — like we’ve…”

“Been doing it?” Claude raised an eyebrow, eager to see Dimitri’s reaction unfold. 

“Yes — I mean  _ no _ — what?!” Dimitri gave him an earnest scowl. “Don’t be so crass! You’re starting to sound like Sylvain,” he warned.

“Lemme guess, that’s a turnoff?”

“ _ Most definitely!”  _

Claude couldn’t help but chuckle at the mortified look on Dimitri’s face. Though his apparent disdain was entertaining to witness, Claude decided to reign in his teasing remarks, realising that they had spent a moment too long away from the festivities. 

“You’re probably right though. If I head back in this state, Lorenz will probably lecture me for ‘not conducting myself in a manner befitting of a noble’.” He spoke in a highfalutin, snooty tone as a rather tragic impersonation of his classmate. Dimitri let out an undignified snort, his hands naturally finding their way to Claude’s slackened braid.

“May I?” He affectionately slid off the tie holding it in place, and began to fold dark hairs over one another into a crude, renewed plait. 

—

Claude and Dimitri re-entered the ball hand-in-hand, met immediately by a triumphant cheer from Sylvain, a ‘finally’ from Hilda, an eye roll from Edelgard and a knowing, proud grin from Byleth. The myriad of jovial reactions seemed to tame Dimitri’s nerves, as he stopped worrying at his lower lip, and the grip on Claude’s hand felt less ardent. Everything seemed to flow perfectly — almost too perfectly, Dorothea’s unerring voice carrying them into the next dance together, flowing as seamlessly as the Airmid river on a quaint summer’s day. 

“Tonight feels almost unreal,” Dimitri admitted when they took to the dancefloor with everyone else. A faint veil of terror covered him, as if these restful moments would be snatched from his hands and replaced with cruel bloodstains — as if the sounds of music would suddenly turn to the condemning calls of a funeral bell. “Claude I—”

“Hold that thought.” Claude looked around him, well met with the smiling faces of their friends. Even Felix held the faintest simper as he berated Sylvain over a typical misstep. 

Fodlan had its fair share of tragedies, ridden with them like a barbarous plague, rising from the depths and sparing no-one in its onslaught. Dimitri was among those who had witnessed soulless bloodlust firsthand, haunted by it every at every moment, awake or asleep. For once, he deserved to  _ breathe,  _ to let loose, even if it was only for one night. “Sometimes it’s good to have happier memories to cling to when things don’t look up. Let’s make tonight one of those,” Claude suggested gently.

There was uncertainty in Dimitri’s expression, but it was tempered as Claude gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yes, let’s,” he said with an ounce of confidence. “Who knows when a chance like this will arise again.” 

Claude couldn’t say much else, Raphael’s hearty slap on his back driving the wind from his lungs. 

“Come on you two, eat with us!” Raphael gestured to an impressive gathering building up near where the refreshments lay. Byleth and Edelgard were at the heart of it, joined gradually by their classmates and friends. Dorothea stepped away from the orchestra as she finished reciting her final score and headed towards them, gladly accepting Petra’s arm as it wound around her waist. Claude saw Linhardt hunched over as he tried to fend off the tempting clutches of sleep, Ingrid enthusing about a knight’s tale with Ashe, Leonie vibrantly discussing lance-wielding techniques with Jeralt, admiration glimmering in striking pools of amber. 

“Shall we?” By simple instinct, Claude’s lips curved upward as he turned towards Dimitri. 

Dimitri nodded at him and linked their arms, and for just one night, let his demons walk behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! Writing was very difficult bc claude is a tricky character to grasp and me being me decided to write it in HIS pov (u know, like a fool). 
> 
> follow me on twitter @maleficauraa if u want to see me ramble abt claude/dimitri. I also post art/fic wips there too! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, comments/kudos are definitely appreciated <3


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